Dream Chasers (34 page)

“McIntyre's a loose cannon, but I've got Jones working on a warrant, based on what I hope Crystal is going to give us. Once we seize all that stuff in his house, it should shut him up fast.”

At the hospital, Green parked right outside the main entrance and slapped a police sticker on the dash. The hospital was bustling with activity, its main corridor more like a shopping mall than a state-of-the-art teaching hospital, but when they stepped off the elevator on the surgical floor, Green instinctively recoiled. Here the beep of machines, the drone of the
PA
, and the unique smell of disinfectant and disease brought memories crashing back. He'd had too many vigils at hospital bedsides. Sue Peters, numerous assault victims, and his own mother, who'd wasted to nothing during her long, futile fight with cancer. By the end, she'd looked like the concentration camp victim she'd been forty years earlier. That cruel irony still haunted him in the dead of night.

The nursing station on the surgical floor had a broad counter and a wall of
TV
monitors which beeped and danced. Two nurses sat quietly recording, and one looked up cheerfully as they approached. The sight of their detective shields brought the head nurse running from the back room.

“How is he?” Green asked.

“Conscious and speaking, but still weak. The doctor has ordered visitors restricted to immediate family for the next two days.”

“We'd like to ask him a few questions. At least some preliminaries. In cases like this, it's important to get the recollections early.”

She looked dubious. “I'll have to check with the doctor, and he's in a consultation right now. If you'd like to take a seat in the waiting room...”

The surgical care waiting room was nothing more than a cluster of plastic chairs shoved into a corner. Marija Kovacev was already there, huddled in a chair. She looked even more gaunt and ravaged than before, her cheekbones protruding and her striking blue eyes sunk deep into their sockets. There was a wildness about her, as if she were hanging on to her sanity by the smallest thread. On the table beside her sat a large vase of roses, which Green suspected she'd picked from her own garden. His heart tightened. She was reaching out to Riley as if he were an extension of her own daughter, as if keeping him alive somehow kept Lea alive.

Her weary eyes lit at the sight of Green, and she pulled herself upright. “They are not letting me visit him—family only—but I talked a long time with his father. I told him Riley visit at my house and that he was afraid. The poor man was very sad about Lea. He has been here all night. He is meeting with the doctor now. I am waiting for Riley's nurse, to give her these flowers and his phone.”

“May I see that phone?” Green asked casually. She shot him a sharp look. “Why?” “You said it looked just like Lea's. Maybe it
is
hers. We still haven't found it.”

She gave a small gasp and immediately plunged her hand into her mammoth purse, rummaging frantically until she found it. She held it in her palm with reverence.

“It has Riley's picture, that's why I think it's his.” She flipped it open and stared at the photo on the screen. It showed Riley laughing into the camera against a backdrop Green recognized as Hog's Back Falls. “It looks like a lover's picture,” she said in wonderment. “Maybe Lea took this.”

On the night she died, he suspected, and he could tell from her quivering lips that she had drawn the same conclusion. She handed the phone to Green. “I don't understand how it is working, but are there more pictures?”

Green pressed buttons with some trepidation. What if these photos were not suitable for parental eyes? Marija had been through enough without unpleasant images to mar her thoughts of her daughter's last night.

The photos were the usual assortment of spontaneous and silly portraits, but their content altered towards the end. Blurry, off-kilter shots of toes and treetops and park signs replaced the staged photos of themselves, and one brief video was a wild, spinning blur of park scenery. Lea high on drugs, losing control and sanity. He closed the photo menu, hoping Marija had not seen the last few.

“She's got messages,” he said as text popped up on the screen. He scrolled down. Ten messages. Half were from Marija herself, but four had the caller
ID
Crystal Adams. “Do you know Lea's password?”

Marija started to shake her head, then her expression cleared. “Try her father's name. Zlatan. She often uses that.”

Green punched it in and was immediately connected to the voice mail box. Aware of Marija's tense, expectant gaze upon him, he rose and walked to a quiet corner of the hall. Crystal's first message, logged at five thirty on the day before Lea's fatal outing, was brief and breezy. “Hey Lea, got your stuff! Guaranteed to be some serious weed.” The second, logged at noon on the day she died, was decidedly peculiar. “Hey Lea, are you going to party tonight? I got it specially, so don't go giving it away.”

The third and fourth were a little more anxious. “Hey, where are you? Have you tried the stuff yet? I really want to know how it went.” The final message, logged at 10:57 on Monday evening, was the most telling. “You know what? I think you should throw the stuff away. Call me when you get this. Whatever you do, don't give it to Riley.”

The next messages were all from Marija, frantic to know where her daughter was, unaware that by the time of her calls, Lea was already dead. Green disconnected and stood a moment reflecting on the meaning of Crystal's words. Some things were clear. Crystal had indeed supplied the marijuana that had killed Lea, and she knew it was unusual quality, perhaps even laced. Had she known it was lethal? Was that why she warned Lea not to give it to Riley or to anyone else? But she had obviously begun to worry when she did not hear back from Lea. Had she begun to have second thoughts? Or had she begun to fear the drug was more potent than she had intended?

A lot of questions, not the least of which was—was McIntyre her supplier, and had he known the dose was lethal? Key questions that would only be answered when she came in for her interview later that day.

He walked back to join Marija and Sullivan, trying to look nonchalant. “It's definitely Lea's phone. Your messages are on there, plus some from her friends. I'll need to take it in for further analysis.”

She looked apprehensive. “Will I get it back? So I can have the photos?”

He reassured her, pocketed the phone in an evidence bag and ushered her onto the elevator with a promise to deliver her flowers personally. He barely had time to fill Sullivan in on Crystal's messages when a door slammed across the hall and a man barrelled towards them. Green caught sight of blazing eyes and purple jowls as the man stormed by towards the stairs. At the last second, he recognized Riley's father.

“Mr. O'Shaughnessy!” he cried, seizing the man's arm. Ted O'Shaughnessy stared right through him and wrenched his arm free without breaking his stride. Good God, Green worried as he looked down the hall towards the patients' rooms. Is it that bad?

The door opened again, and this time a dark, rail-thin man in green surgical scrubs emerged, his black eyes troubled. He stopped short at the sight of Green and Sullivan.

“I'm Dr. Vishnu. Are you the detectives?”

Green made the introductions, hoping that the inspector label would carry some weight, but the doctor seemed unimpressed. He spoke in a clipped, unemotional tone with only the slightest hint of his native India. “I can only allow you five minutes with him, and a nurse must be in the room. Her word goes.”

“Is there anything that would affect his statement? Any neurological or memory problems?” Green asked.

“He's been sleeping most of the time, and he's on a fairly strong pain medication. He doesn't remember the accident, which is quite normal, so he may not be able to help you. Don't pressure him or challenge him.”

“Any questions we should avoid?”

“Don't discuss whether he'll play hockey again. He may ask you, but don't answer. He'd need a major miracle. His right leg is pinned in three places. I was just telling his father the prognosis. I think that's what upset him so much.” Vishnu paused as if debating the wisdom of further disclosure. “I haven't mentioned this to Riley, but I did tell the father as well, and perhaps you should know, since it may have some bearing on the accident. We ran a routine toxicology screen when he was admitted, and it showed two elevated readings—ephedra and creatinine. Ephedrine is a metabolic stimulant found in common over-thecounter medications, but it's often used by athletes as an energy booster. In large doses, it can cause agitation, possibly confusion. Ironically, the ephedrine may actually have been a benefit to him after the accident in keeping his heart stimulated.”

“And creatinine?”

“Elevated creatinine can have a variety of etiologies, but based on his muscle bulk and water retention, I would estimate that he was taking creatine.” Seeing Green's blank look, he continued. “Creatine is a performance-enhancing supplement athletes use to build muscle mass. It's not nearly as dangerous as steroids, but we don't know much about its side effects with adolescents. Regardless, mixing substances that rev up the metabolism is never good.”

Green remembered the manic edge to Riley's behaviour during the car chase. “You're saying it could have a bearing on the accident?”

“Well...” Vishnu paused. “It's not my field, but it might have increased his agitation or interfered with his judgment. Not seriously, but in a stressful situation...” He looked uncomfortable venturing beyond his expertise. “Both these drugs can easily be bought over the counter or on the internet, you understand. Neither one is illegal.”

“Not illegal, just unsportsmanlike,” muttered Sullivan once they'd thanked the doctor and were following the nurse down the hall in the ward. “So much for being a role model for our kids.”

Green was thinking of the cases of bottled sports drink in McIntyre's closet. “Dr. Rosen's Electro-boost”. More likely Dr. McIntyre's private concoction, which Riley probably drank almost like water. If he had known it contained ephedrine, would he have let Lea drink it that night? “It's possible he didn't know.”

Sullivan shot him an incredulous look. “What kid wouldn't know? Unless he chooses not to know.”

Green's reply was cut short by the nurse, who stopped in front of a half open door and placed her finger to her lips. Green steeled himself for the worst, but when the nurse peeked inside, Riley was propped up in bed, a little bleary-eyed but alert. His skin was waxen pale, but except for the sutures that criss-crossed his face and the tubes and wires that snaked all around him, he looked almost normal. His right leg was in a massive, full-length cast suspended from an overhead pulley.

Sullivan, the father of two teenage boys, spoke first. His voice was soft. “Hi, Riley. I'm Brian Sullivan, and this is Mike Green. We're detectives. How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been checked into the boards by Zdeno Chara.”

Sullivan laughed, and even Green understood the reference. Zdeno Chara was a six-foot-nine hockey legend who crushed forwards with a single nudge. The kid's on the ball at least, Green thought with relief. He let Sullivan carry on.

Sullivan eased himself casually into the chair by the bed. “You're looking better than yesterday, for sure.”

Trailing his
IV
tubing, Riley raised one hand to stroke his injured leg. “I know I banged up this pretty good, but I'll be back on the ice. If I have to visit every doctor on the planet.”

“That's the spirit. Do you remember what happened?”

Riley tried to shake his head, but winced. “Dad told me I totalled my Mustang.”

Sullivan nodded. “But there's always another where it came from.”

“Probably not where that one came from. Not with Vic in jail.”

Green sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Riley, Vic didn't kill the social worker.”

Riley's eyes filled. “But...but...”

“I know you think he did, but the evidence doesn't point that way. We found the tools used and the place it happened. It wasn't anywhere near Vic's place.”

Riley grew even more pale. “Who?”

“We've arrested your Uncle Darren.”

“Uncle Darren!” Riley stared at them, his colour flooding back in. “That's insane! Why would Uncle Darren kill that woman?”

“They got in an argument. She came to his house and confronted him—”

“About what?”

“About Lea. He lost his temper. It's all at his house, Riley. The blood in the living room, the wheelbarrow he moved her in—”

“I can't believe this! I know Uncle Darren's got a temper, but...”

“He's as good as admitted it.”

From the corner of his eye, Green saw the nurse step forward, as if preparing to intervene. Riley ignored her. “When did he do this? How could I not know? I live with him!”

“Last Friday morning. The social worker was last seen heading over to his house.”

“But that's impossible. Friday morning he was—” Abruptly, Riley's eyes bulged and all traces of colour fled his cheeks. He clamped his mouth shut.

“He was what?”

“Nothing.”

“You were going to say something.”

“I...I just couldn't believe he would do it.” Above his head, the heart monitor began to race.

“I think it's time—” began the nurse. Green leaned close.

“But you said it was impossible. Do you know something?”

“No! No! I didn't mean that!” He squirmed in the bed as if trying to escape. The nurse leaped forward.

“Okay, that's enough, you two. Time to go.” Green hesitated, watching Riley. The youth was ghostly pale, his breathing ragged and his face twisted in panic. Why panic? What was he hiding?